PS: I Love You
by HollyRose31523
Summary: In every relationship there are ups and downs and sometimes even a serious quarrel. But it always takes two to tango …
1. I Would Dye For You

Disclaimer:  
I don't own "Fortysomething" or any of the mentioned characters.

* * *

Chapter 1  
**I Would Dye For You**

"You what?"  
It is seriously scary. I have never seen Rory so upset. He is absolutely furious.  
"It was only a suggestion," I try to calm him down – but to no avail.  
"A suggestion?" Rory repeats. "A suggestion!"  
"If I had guessed you would be so angry about it, I would never have asked."  
"I wish you never had asked!" Rory replies. "Dying my hair black! How did you get that stupid idea?"  
I open my mouth, but I have no chance to answer.  
"Oh, I know where it comes from," Rory suspects, jabbing an accusing finger at me. "It's because of this Snape character that you fancy."  
"No!"  
The lie is out of my mouth before I can stop it.  
"Well, yes," I admit, reluctantly. "I just thought he looked cool with his long black hair and his black eyes …"  
"Perhaps you also want me to grow my hair Snape-length, then?" Rory asks, sarcastically.  
"Well, you could try …"  
I had better not spoken! Rory grabs a CD from his night stand and throws it against the wall. From the corner of my eyes I notice that it is a sampler that I gave to Daniel, when I dated him briefly, so there is no harm done – not really, except for the CD case that now lies broken on the floor.  
"And what's next?" Rory demands. "Black contacts?"  
This time I am clever enough to hold my tongue. Part of me wishes I had never brought up this subject, but I just couldn't resist. The initial thought had come to me, when Rory gave this almost perfect imitation of Snape's voice the other day and it hit me then and there that he might appear just as dangerously mysterious, if he made a few optical changes, too.  
"Am I supposed to wear only black clothes from now on, too?" Rory continues. "I tell you what, Laura, enough is enough! I would do anything for you, and you know it, but I draw the line at black! My hair will never be dyed black, Laura, do you understand?"  
I nod, quickly.  
"You will never see my hair in that particular colour, is that perfectly clear?"  
"Yes, perfectly," I answer.  
"Good!"  
Rory exhales, folding his arms before his chest.  
"Dying my hair!" he huffs. "I wonder what you would say if I asked you to get your tattoo with my brother's name removed."  
I frown.  
"Do you want me to?" I ask, insecurely.  
"I certainly wouldn't mind if you did."  
I bite my lips.  
"But it would hurt, wouldn't it?" I reply. "Getting it removed."  
"Did it hurt when you got it?"  
A cold shiver is running down my spine as I relive the memory.  
"Hell, yeah."  
"So, what makes you think removing it will be painless?" Rory wants to know.  
I shrug.  
"I don't know," I admit. "I just thought they might use lasers or something …"  
"How should I know what they use," Rory says, evenly. "*I* didn't get a tattoo. *I* didn't get myself branded!"  
"Yeah, rub it in!"  
"I don't need to," Rory snorts. "It's already there."  
I take a deep breath.  
"So, you want it gone?" I ask.  
"So, you want my hair black?" Rory retorts.  
I begin to chew my lower lip. I had never thought this tattoo would bother Rory that much. After all, he had taken me back, despite the fact that I betrayed him with his brother. He forgave me, just like that, and I forgave him for dating my sister in turn. I have never asked if he and Lucy had been intimate. Personally, I doubt it, because Lucy would have told me. Still, I am not quite sure and part of me doesn't really want to know.  
"Look, Rory," I begin after a moment of silence. "It had crossed my mind to get rid of the tattoo a couple of times, but I'm really scared. I'm not sure if it is worth it, you know and you were alright with it, so I figured, you didn't really care about it."  
"Just because I didn't mention it every time I saw it doesn't mean that it didn't bother me."  
I lower my head.  
"You never asked me, 'Rory, do you mind if I kept this tattoo with your brother's name on it?' and it hurt," Rory explains. "You just assumed I would be alright with it and for a moment there, I thought I was alright with it too. But I wasn't. It does bother me. It bothers me no end."  
He exhales, deeply.  
"There, I said it," he adds. "Now you know."  
"Yeah …" I answer. "Now I know."  
Reluctantly, I look up and meet his eyes.  
"You have never really forgiven me, have you?"  
Rory hesitates.  
"I would rather not answer your question," he says, evasively, and it is answer enough.  
I feel my throat tightening. He has definitely not forgiven me. He is still holding a grudge.  
"I think I should go," I suggest silently as I stand.  
Rory makes no move to hold me back – on the contrary.  
"Good idea," he says, plainly.  
That's not a good sign. That's not a good sign at all.  
"Can I call you?" I ask, my voice nearly cracking.  
Rory shakes his head.  
"Better not."  
"I see," I whisper, nodding.  
So this is the end. Well, I don't exactly know, if this is the end, but it certainly feels like it – the end of everything.  
The trouble is that I really did love him. I still do, even more than before, but I feel that it is no use in telling him. So I don't.  
"Bye, Rory."  
"Bye Laura."

It was the last time I hear his voice. However, in my head it is always there – like my conscience that is telling me what to do and how to behave. No matter how hard I try, I cannot shut it out. In a way I am glad about it. I still feel his presence and his voice is a constant reminder that he was actually there.  
As he requested I manage to be brave and don't call him. I do drive by his house, though, waiting patiently for hours to catch a glimpse of him, whenever he walks past the window. Then I feel safe and can go home again.  
But one day my longing gets the better of me. He said I should not call and I didn't – for a whole week I have been strong, but today I decide to finally give in to my weakness.  
Standing in front of his house I pull out my phone and turn it a few times in my hand as if trying to prepare myself for the scolding that awaits me, but just as I bring up the courage to dial his number, my phone starts ringing.  
I catch my breath and stare at the number in disbelief. It's him. He is calling me, at the exact moment when I was about to call him.  
I feel my heart beating fast as I press the button to pick up.  
"Hello?" I ask, timidly.  
My voice sounds as if it doesn't belong to me – but neither does Rory's as he answers.  
"Hi, Laura, it's me."  
"Yeah, I know," I reply. "I saw your number."  
"Really?" Rory asks, astonished. "I thought you might have deleted it …"  
I throw a laugh.  
"No, of course not," I assure him. "I would never …"  
"Laura," Rory interrupts me. "I'm sorry about last week. I said a couple of things I shouldn't have said. They are all not true and, yes, of course, I forgave you. I don't even know why I got so upset in the first place."  
"Because I asked you to dye your hair black," I remind him. "But, Rory, I don't really want you to do that! I like your hair just as it is."  
"Are you sure?"  
"I'm positive," I insist. "So, please, don't dye your hair black, Rory, just because of me, alright?"  
Rory sighs.  
"Too late, I'm afraid."  
I blink a couple of times.  
"No …" I gasp.  
"Yeah …" Rory drawls. "I dyed it today. Jet black. And I didn't get a haircut either."  
"You …"  
"Don't get overexcited," Rory interrupts me quickly. "It is by far not Snape-lengths, but …"  
"Rory, are you insane?"  
"No, Laura, I am in love," Rory replies. "I would have dyed my hair ginger if you had asked me to, because, you know, people do the funniest things, when they are in love, don't they?"  
"Yes, they do," I agree. "Like getting tattoos … and having them removed …"  
"Please, Laura, don't do that," Rory cuts in. "I don't want you to go into surgery to get rid of this stupid thing."  
"But it bothered you."  
"I still don't want you to be in pain, only because I …"  
He pauses in mid-sentence.  
"Hang on a second," he then says, suspiciously. "Did you just say 'bothered'?"  
"I most certainly did."  
"You used past tense on purpose?"  
"Yes."  
There is a moment of silence.  
"So you …" Rory eventually begins. "You got your tattoo surgically removed?"  
"I only got rid of the name," I admit. "That was painful enough."  
"I can imagine," Rory says, compassionately. "Why on earth did you do it that?"  
"Because I love you, Rory Slippery."  
"And I love you, Laura Proek."  
I laugh, relieved.  
"May I see it?" Rory begins, hesitantly. "Your improved tattoo, I mean."  
"Of course."  
"When?" Rory demands.  
"Anytime."  
"Now?" Rory suggests.  
I smile.  
"Can I come in, then?" I ask.  
"Are you …?"  
"Yes, I am standing right outside your door," I confirm, but Rory doesn't reply.  
Instead I hear the phone being flung aside and the sound of receding footsteps. Smiling, I hang up and a moment later the front door is jerked open.  
I facepalm myself as I recognize Rory standing in the doorway, his hair jet black and slightly curly – not a bit like Snape, but absolutely to die for.


	2. A Plain Excursion

Disclaimer:  
I don't own "Fortysomething" or any of the mentioned characters.

* * *

Chapter 2  
**A Plain Excursion**

"I am so glad it is finally back to my natural colour."  
Rory ruffles through his hair.  
"Yeah, me too," I admit. "It was a stupid idea to dye it."  
"May I remind you, that it was not *my* idea in the first place?" Rory says, looking at me accusingly.  
"I know, I know …"  
I make a defensive gesture.  
"I'm sorry I even mentioned it."  
"I am glad about your tattoo, though," Rory adds. "The heart looks better without my brother's name written across it."  
"It plainly said 'Daniel'," I argue. "No one would have known that this Daniel was your brother. It could have been any Daniel …"  
"For example?"  
"Daniel Craig, Daniel Radcliffe …"  
"Oh, don't you start!" Rory cuts in. "Daniel Radcliffe?"  
"Sure, why not?"  
Rory scoffs.  
"Two words for you: jail bait."  
He looks at me, seriously.  
"Your precious Harry Potter is underage."  
"He looks older …"  
Rory inhales deeply, scrunching up his face.  
"Do we have to discuss this now, Laura?" he demands. "Actually, I was meaning to run a completely different thought by you, but now I hardly feel like it anymore …"  
"Oh, Rory …" I drawl his name, flapping my eyelashes at him, which usually works. "Not that face …"  
Rolling his eyes Rory falters.  
"Alright, I'll tell you," he gives in. "I was thinking about taking our relationship a bit further."  
"Really?" I gasp. "Are you thinking of a threesome?"  
Rory frowns.  
"No, not exactly," he says, repulsed. "I was more thinking of a mini-break."  
"A mini-break?" I repeat, flatly.  
"Yes, for the bank holiday weekend."  
"Can you get off from Side Street for a whole weekend on such a short notice?"  
"Believe it or not, I can," Rory answers. "I spoke with Paz, Chaz, Maz and Raz, they all agreed, Alec was not too happy and Bolt nearly threw up, when I told him, but in the end he came around, so … I'm free, we can go."  
"Go where?"  
"Wherever you like."  
"Paris?" I suggest.  
Rory frowns.  
"Paris … as in France?"  
I nod.  
"That could be a tad expensive, if we went by plane," Rory adds for consideration. "Besides, I am not too fond of flying."  
"Then we go by car," I answer. "I'm sure your Mum would give us hers …"  
"You want to go to France in an old VW Beetle?"  
"Or we take your Dad's car."  
"Yeah, and then Daniel wants to join us with Lucy and the next thing we know, Edwin and Woj want to come too," Rory supposes. "That's not what I call a romantic weekend."  
"So what do you have in mind?"  
"Wiltshire."  
"Wiltshire?"  
"The county of the White Horse," Rory says, his eyes sparkling. "It is supposed to be great. I hear Stonehenge rocks. What do you think?"  
"I'm thrilled," I reply, totally unexcited.  
"And the big advantage would be that we can take Estelle's car."  
"So it's okay to drive to Wiltshire in your Mum's car, but we can't use it to get to Paris?" I sum up the facts. "Rory, I don't see why there is so much difference, honestly."  
"Well, for once, Wiltshire is in England and Paris is in France."  
"Rory, I may be a little dim, but I know a wee bit about geometry."  
Rory chuckles, hiding his smile behind his hand, but somehow it even upsets me more.  
"What?" I demand. "What's so funny? What did I say?"  
"You said 'geometry'."  
"Yeah, so?"  
"So you meant 'geography'."  
"Isn't that the same?"  
"Not at all," Rory replies. "Shall I explain the difference?"  
"Thank you, but no thank you!" I refuse.  
"Are you quite sure?"  
"Look, I am not in school anymore," I clarify. "So don't try to teach me a lesson."  
"Don't you mean 'learn' me a lesson?" Rory teases and I frown confused.  
"What is this, Rory, a grammar class for blondes?"  
"It would be semantics class, if anything."  
"Are you trying to be clever?" I hiss.  
"I don't need to," Rory retorts, dryly. "I am clever."  
"Oh, more clever than me?"  
"Cleverer.  
"Oh, I've had it with you, Rory!"  
Angrily, I slam my fist on the table.  
"Why do you go out with me, if you think I am stupid?"  
"I don't think you are stupid, Laura."  
"Then don't treat me like a moron."  
With that I stand, and hurry out of the room, but I don't get too far. I have not even reached the front door, when Rory has already caught up.  
"Laura, I'm sorry," he says, grabbing my arm, but I quickly wriggle out of his grasp.  
"Let me go!"  
Harshly, I struggle myself free and run out of the house, not looking back.  
This time, Rory doesn't follow.

By the evening I feel pretty stupid about my behaviour and especially about myself. At first I thought I was absolutely right, but when I looked up 'geometry' and 'geography' in the internet as well as 'grammar' and 'semantics' I soon realized, how silly I have been, mixing these terms up. Rory definitely is cleverer than me and yet, I am too proud to call him to apologize. Maybe tomorrow I will bring up the courage to say I'm sorry, but not tonight.  
Unfortunately, my bad conscience is nearly eating me up and when I am finally lying in bed I am far away from sleep. Tossing and turning I consider my options. It is not even midnight – it is certainly not too late to make a phone call to Rory.  
Quickly, I get up and pull out my phone, when a knock at my door makes me flinch.  
"Yes?" I ask, startled.  
The door opens a crack and my father peeks in.  
"Are you decent?" he asks.  
"Of course I am decent, come in."  
"I meant, are you decent to receive a visitor?" Dad elaborated.  
"A visitor?" I repeat, suspiciously.  
Dad smiles.  
"It's your boyfriend."  
"Rory?"  
"Yes, of course Rory, how many boyfriends do you have?"  
"I'm not sure," I admit. "Hopefully one, still."  
"And he is here," Dad explains. "Do you want to see him?"  
"I don't know," I reply. "Does he look angry?"  
"No, he looks quite relaxed," Dad answers. "And he has a dufflebag with him. I didn't know he wanted to sleep over."  
"I don't believe he wants to sleep over," I say, slowly. "Did he say anything?"  
"Only that he wished to see you."  
I take a deep breath, preparing for the worst.  
"Call him in, please."  
Apparently, Dad doesn't have to. As soon as I have said it the door opens wider and Rory appears next to my Dad, the expression on his face unreadable.  
"I guess I leave you two love birds alone," Dad smirks and with that he leaves.  
For a moment Rory and I stand quietly in the room, none of us speaking, until I finally bring up the courage to talk first.  
"Rory …"  
"Laura."  
Damn. He is not making it easy this time.  
"What brings you here?" I ask.  
"I thought I should drop by before I left."  
I swallow hard.  
"You …" I begin, insecurely. "You want to leave?"  
"Yep."  
He pops the 'p' in a very casual way and at any other occasion I would have laughed. Funnily, though, today I don't find it amusing.  
"Where to, may I ask?"  
"On a holiday."  
"I see …"  
I bite my lips.  
"For the weekend?" I presume. "Or longer?"  
"No, just a mini-break," Rory confirms and smirks. "You want to come?"  
I feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  
"Hell, yeah!" I exclaim, practically jumping at Rory as I wrap my arms around his neck. "Where are we going?"  
"Paris, of course," Rory answers. "I filled up Estelle's car, so it should bring us to Calais at least, but then we must find a petrol station or we will have to hitch-hike through France."  
"Your Mum gave you her car?"  
"She did."  
"Does she know that we are going on a mini-break?"  
"Yes.  
"Does she know, *where* we are going to?"  
"That I thought wise not to tell her," Rory replies. "She will murder me, when she sees the mileage on her car, if it ever makes it back, but I hope I can run fast enough."  
"You can hide here at my place," I offer.  
"She will find me, but it is certainly worth a try."  
"Alright, she will find you, but she won't bite your head off," I add for consideration. "You are her son."  
"Well, she has got spares …"  
"But you are her favourite."  
"It doesn't matter," Rory says, plainly. "When it comes to her car, Estelle won't show mercy to anyone."  
I bite my lip, thoughtfully.  
"We could make a change of plans, of course, and only go to Wiltshire," I then suggest. "It's supposes to be great. And I hear Stonehenge rocks."  
"Would that be alright with you?"  
"Everything is alright with me as long as I am with you."  
"Then get your toothbrush," Rory commands. "I will wait for you in the car."  
Reluctantly, I let go of him and smile.  
"I really love you, Rory Slippery," I say, softly.  
"And I really love you, Laura Proek," Rory answers.


End file.
